I hate women. Women disgust me. I swear, I can't be one of them anymore. Can I please disavow membership to this gender? I so seriously don't want to be associated with people who do things like this.

1) My best friend knows everything. She knows all of your vitals -- from the size of your bank account to the size of your other, um, holdings -- and she knows how both compare with those of every other man I've ever dated.

I thought it was illegal to disclose that kind of information without permission... (?) I was always taught that bank account size, or anything to do with money, is something that is held in the highest confidence. NO ONE is to know ANYONE'S bank account size unless it comes from them directly. Not you, not his family, not your family AND LEAST OF ALL, YOUR FUCKING FRIENDS.

And the rest of it... has been removed from www.menshealth.com, but it's copied here:

The woman you sleep with gazes into your eyes and tells you she loves you. And you believe her. You can tell by the way she looks at you, the way she holds you, the way she seems to always know what you want before you do. There are a couple of things in life you just know, and love and this naked woman are two of them. But there are a lot of things you don't know. A woman may give you her body and her heart, but there are parts that she'll never give up. Mysteries only hinted at in a passing sly smile, an inscrutable laugh. These are the secrets of lovers past, hidden fantasies, and unshared longings. A woman's deepest secrets that don't -- and never will -- include you. You're about to sample this hidden knowledge. But like any man who seeks, you'd better be prepared for what you're about to find.

My best friend knows everything. She knows all of your vitals -- from the size of your bank account to the size of your other, um, holdings -- and she knows how both compare with those of every other man I've ever dated. I have done a hand-comparison measurement so I can divulge size and girth with a high level of accuracy. When my friend smirks at you knowingly, you are not imagining it. She knows. So just know that she knows, and deal with it. (It's not going to change.) Ask her about me, or chat with her about our relationship, at your own risk. She will tell me. Even -- in fact, especially -- if she promises not to. This is not always a bad thing (e.g., if you happen to be telling her how much you love me). But, in general, remember that she is my confidante first, and yours never.

Just looking at your hands can turn me on.

When you go away, even for a day, I sleep in your favorite old T-shirt because it smells like you.

I'll never tell you exactly how many men I've slept with. No matter how sincere I appeared when I answered your question, chances are I wasn't. As an unscientific guideline, when a woman says she's slept with four men, the real number is actually closer to seven. Her fib is partly intentional (she doesn't want to appear a floozy), but mostly it's sexual amnesia. When a woman wants to pretend an encounter never occurred, she simply scraps the man from her official score sheet. Common excuses that lead to such an omission: The actual sex lasted only a few thrusts; or she was drunk or on the rebound.

I fantasized about being with you at least a dozen times before we actually first got naked.

I still think about my ex-boyfriends and compare them to you. Mostly you win. Sometimes not.

I have Googled your exes.

When I'm falling in love with you, I completely lose my appetite.

My body really isn't naturally this hairless and smooth all over. But I will never allow you to see any indication whatsoever of all the shaving, tweezing, waxing, exfoliating, and moisturizing that gets it this way.

I only appear to have it all together. My true organization (or lack thereof) is revealed in my closet, my makeup bag, my desk files.

I have discovered your porn stash and your frequently visited porn Web sites and think the things that turn you on are hilarious.

When I say, "I'm ready," I'll need exactly 7 more minutes to get ready. Don't try to cheat the system by showing up 7 minutes later; I will still need an extra 7 minutes.

When I say, "I'll meet you in 15 minutes," I mean I will leave in 15 minutes, and thus won't actually arrive for at least 30 (but probably more like 40).

You've made me cry more times than you'll ever know.

I obsess about when you're going to call me again. The period of time between our first date and your "Thanks for a great night; when can I see you again?" always seems stretched into slow motion. So don't worry about looking too eager. Call. Even if you only wait until noon the day after, it will feel like a lifetime to me. And don't send me an e-mail unless you want me to put you in the figurative trash can along with your message.

I want you to talk a little dirty.

At the beginning of our relationship, I save all of your voice mails and listen to them (and make my friends listen, too), repeatedly.

I might wear granny underwear and purposely not shave my legs because I like you. As crazy as it sounds, the more I like you, the less likely I am to sleep with you on an early date, because I don't want to sabotage having a "proper" relationship with you. So I just might purposely hunt out the ugliest underwear in my drawer and not shave my legs -- all to prevent myself from getting naked with you too soon. Sometimes I might get a little tipsy or carried away, and this plan will backfire.

I split the cost of my fashion purchases over two or more credit cards, so you don't notice the gargantuan deficit.

I'm constantly testing you. I observe, analyze, and judge every action, word, gesture, e-mail, and facial expression. When I ask you if you want to have a threesome, I don't mean it. If you want me to speak to you again, let alone sleep with you after this conversation, the answer should always be, "Why would I want to sleep with another woman when I have you?"

I check out your butt every time you leave the room.

I need constant indications that you want me around. That's why it's better, for example, to say, "I want you to come away with me for the weekend. Could you come with me?" than to ask, "What are you up to this weekend?"

I love it when you get a little jealous. So if you ever see me flirting in front of you with the waiter, the bus driver, or another guy at a party, know I'm actually flirting with you -- through him.

Even though I may complain that I don't see you enough (or that you work too hard), I find nothing sexier than watching you put on a suit in the morning and rush off to work.

I start fights with you because I'm feeling ignored. I'm trying to force emotion out of you. Don't retreat into your cave; just give me what I want: some attention. And never tell me to "calm down," unless you want to guarantee that I absolutely won't.

Even if I insist on paying or splitting the bill on our first date, I'll think you're cheap if you let me.

I may find your best friend repulsive, but I've fantasized about sleeping with him. Not because I want him, but because I want a piece of a guy who is so close to you.

If I'm going to break up with you, all of my friends know way before you do. I've been talking about it for 2 weeks.

When we do break up, I put all photographs of you and mementos of our relationship in a shoe box and store it in my closet. Just in case I get nostalgic. Just in case you come back.

I want you to take control in bed. Yes, I have a successful career, I'm financially independent, I live on my own, and I don't need a man to make me happy (in theory). I still want you to pick me up, carry me to the bedroom, and take without asking.

Some points are more benign. Others are. Just. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'll be really mean here and say that IT'S REALLY NO WONDER that women can't find "good men" to date or marry. I see and meet great guys everywhere and I'm not even looking. I'm not even trying. If you're pulling stupid shit like that, no wonder they're not staying with you.